


The Blue Veil of the Night

by ClockworkCourier



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Traits, Centaurs, Elves, Gift Fic, High Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Leave,” the voice said, now identified as coming from the creature. He looked at the Hunter with absolute urgency.</p>
<p>The Hunter lowered his bow completely. He found himself struggling to take in the sight, as he had never seen anything like it. </p>
<p>(Gift fic for TheLigeia / magicallyscientific on tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Veil of the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLigeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLigeia/gifts).



> So TheLigeia/magicallyscientifc/Sarah and I decided to write fics for each other! Mine was supposed to be a oneshot but I liked writing it so much that I'm considering making it multichapter (and then I'll probably kick myself later because PROJECTS). She asked for a fantasy/sci-fi AU, so voila! Elves and cervitaurs!

The horizon was a vast silken robe of complex dye work and rich embossing. The east was a deep, somber violet, lightening in shades over the celestial dome so that the stars settled in a rich coat of dusky blue. The west held the last sparks of the day’s life; a show of rich gold-struck lines of clouds holding conference over the deep orange and red of the sun’s last light. With every moment, it changed, flowing in the wind and sinking deeper and deeper, so that the Goddess of Night wore her starry mantle within the hour.  
  
In the Gray Tower, somewhere in the mountains, the Astronomers would begin their nightly quest to document the celeste. They would reason out positions and constellations and speak of changes in the seasons in relation to the rotation of the heavens. To their direct east, the Ladies of Dusk would take their first dips into the moonlight-silver pools of Heavensmoor, praying to the Goddess for visions of the future and peeks into the past. They believed that sipping at the waters would grant them longer lives, greater views of the flow of Time, an eternity to sing and bathe in the shimmering tides that Night blessed them.  
  
But things were not so calm all over. Night brought with her a new sort of life, baited only by the sable that crossed the land, lured by the quicksilver light that wove itself between the trees like a glowing braid. It was nights like this, when the summer air was heavy and humid, when these lures and baits were laid out in prime places, the Hunt was at its best.  
  
Night had given many gifts to those with true-shooting arrows and strong hearts. She had blessed hunters with a bounty when it was her time. Meat was plentiful, if one was skilled enough to find the sources. Food brought in during this time had strange but wonderful effects on those who tasted it. So long as they praised Night and the creature itself, they would be blessed.  
  
The Hunter crawled silently through the forest, yew bow at the ready, a pale arrow already knocked and primed. Elvenkind were the most fortunate when it came to the Hunt. Legend held that they were the first to be welcomed into the forest when the Hunt began, thousands of years ago. Elves had a deep love for the land, a connection that surpassed the roots of the greatest trees and sank into the loam and soil, down to the deepest stones. For this, they were given great fortune in all aspects. So long as they remained true to their promise to continue their endless respect, they could continue unabated.  
  
He was no stranger to this ancient pact, and so upheld it since he knew how to speak. Every beast he felled was prayed over, and all parts of it were used out of respect. It was a waste to hunt for trophies.   
  
Aside from the pale wood of his bow and arrow, he was dressed in such a way as to blend in with his surroundings. He wore a dark tunic and hood, a cloth tied around the lower portion of his face to conceal his nose and mouth. His trousers were made of a soft leather from an animal he had taken some months prior, and all manner of daggers and skinning knives were strapped to his thigh. His boots were given a special touch of elven magic so that he would always move a little quieter than most.  
  
He kneeled close to the ground, keen eyes looking for any clue that a beast had passed through the area. No twigs had been disturbed, no leaves jostled. It seemed that anything live would have already headed due south, toward the forked rivers. It was a familiar tactic, but not one that the Hunter was keen to repeat. All game near the rivers was the same. It was small and far too easy to catch. He had heard stories of larger creatures in the north, fearsome and majestic, blessings of Night beyond comparison.  
  
Unwise, perhaps, and he was more likely to return home in the morning with nothing to show for his efforts, but the Hunter began a steady pace northwards.   
  
He was mindful of territory lines as he walked. Memory created a map scrawled out by his mother before her death, etching out borders between tribes and clans. Some were more protective of their land than others. One misstep could land the Hunter in a trap, and it would be all too possible that he would be gutted by morning, like one of his own captures. Others were more lenient. His clan, for instance, held the firm belief that the forest belonged to all who might wander into it. They sought only to protect the woods from destruction. If there was an intruder, they would only be questioned. Their life would not be threatened.  
  
The Hunter kept an ear out for prey and an eye out for landmarks denoting lines he could not pass. The farther north he would travel, the more vicious the clans would become. There were even rumors of a more primeval land beyond the familiar scape of the woods. Unbeatable beasts were said to wander, their jaws dripping with the blood of those who were unfortunate enough to get too close. The Hunter kept this in mind, promising to himself that he would not venture into places that he did not know.  
  
The stars continued their endless rotation above him. Everyone once in awhile, the Hunter would pause and peer through the sparser parts of the canopy of trees above him to make sure he was going in the right direction. Too often had heard of others venturing into the woods only to walk around in circles and get lost. To his fortune, if Night had blessed him with anything other than his persistence, she had also given him an excellent sense of direction.   
  
He followed a constellation that with imagination, resembled a crown. To the elves, the constellation was known as the Northern King. No matter how the sky turned, the crown would stay in the north, as though all the other stars turned around it like a fixed point. The Northern King was said to have placed the snow on the mountains, and from the melted water that ran down to the valleys, life sprang up. The other constellations turned around him, as all life was rooted in his gift. Beyond the long range of mountains, the Northern King’s castle was buried in the snow. Still, the King and his family lived there, and so long as they remained, the snows would still fall and the rivers would flow.   
  
As the Hunter walked, he tried to imagine the castle. His mother had told him stories about it, as well as all the other Kings and Queens in the sky. Night was their mother, she had said. When the Northern King gave snow to the world, Night built his castle as a gift. It was said to be as large as a forest, as tall as the tallest mountain. It glittered like fresh snow in the sunlight, and the gardens contained trees and flowers made of delicate curls and twists of frost. The Hunter imagined that it glowed like the moon, with ice forming the panes of the windows. He wondered what sort of creatures lived there, if any did. Stags made of snow, perhaps.   
  
As he imagined the Northern King leading a hunt, a twig cracked in the distance. The Hunter froze, hand gripping the bow, eyes scanning the premises. Moonlight made the forest a confusing canvas, as a speckling of light would move in the wind and create a rabbit. Branches caught in the right light looked like the antlers of a stag.  
  
Silence reigned for a long moment. There was no breath of wind to stir the branches, so the forest looked frozen. The Hunter did not draw in a breath, waiting for any other movement. Perhaps he was just too eager to catch something and his mind had been playing tricks on him. It had happened before, and he was not beyond reprimanding himself for it.  
  
Before he made a move to turn away and continue his hike, he saw something unusual. At first, he would have mistaken it for the dotting of moonlight on the bark of a tree. Yet it shifted without wind, and the Hunter realized it was the fur pattern of a creature. To its credit, it held very still for something that must have been nervous.   
  
The Hunter slowly pulled his arrow back, carefully and soundlessly bringing his aim up.   
  
The creature moved forward, twigs and branches snapping with every step. The Hunter listened to the pattern of the steps and discerned that it was a four-legged beast. It was strange that it would approach him, but perhaps it had forgotten he was there and was resuming what ever course it had been on before. It would make for a cleaner shot, he reasoned, so he held still and waited.  
  
Then it became obvious that the creature knew he was there, and the Hunter suddenly felt a shift in the forest. There was danger here, it seemed to say. A wise hunter would turn back and return the way he came.   
  
The wind picked up and carried a voice on its crests, soft as a whisper.  
  
“ _Turn back,_ ” it said.  
  
He shook his head. At least he had the benefit of speed, both in his shot and how quickly he could run. If he missed the shot, it wouldn’t be hard to virtually disappear into the shadows of the forest, and it would be even easier to navigate his way back. He couldn’t imagine a creature that would be smart enough to follow.  
  
“ _Please,_ ” the voice pleaded.   
  
That was enough to make the Hunter stop and consider. He lowered his bow only a fraction, watching as the creature approached. It was larger than he had figured, almost a good head and shoulders above his own height. From what he could see, it had the dappled coat of a fawn, but was as large as a full grown buck.   
  
Then it stepped out of the shadows.  
  
The Hunter had heard many stories in his lifetime. His clan was quite adept at it, reciting tales as old as the earth they lived on. One story he had been told as a child now became relevant rather than a fantasy he had entertained. One of Night’s children was the King of the Wood and had been tasked in creating creatures for the Hunt. His brother, the King of the Water, observed the creatures his brother had made and laughed at their simplicity. In comparison, he showed the beautiful and complex creatures of the deep waters and chastised his brother for such a simple mind.  
  
In retaliation, the King of the Wood took the two-legged creatures that could hunt and combined them with their four legged prey. The King of the Water was horrified at these hybrids and recanted his statement, for fear of what his brother might create if he continued jeering at him.  
  
These creatures had descendants, and generations continued until they had their own clans and tribes. However, because of the King of the Water’s scorn at their appearance, they hid deep in the woods and the mountains so that few would ever see them.  
  
The creature standing before the Hunter was one of them. His upper half resembled that of an elf, lithe but muscular, bare save for a faint dusting of tawny fur like a deer on certain places along his arms and back. His hair was the shade of gold of the sunset, his ears pointed and just barely poking through the strands. Yet on top of his head were the large antlers of an elder deer. The Hunter only had a moment to look, but he was able to count sixteen points on it.   
  
The lower half was, as the Hunter had observed, much like a deer. Despite the points on the antlers, he had the dappled coat of a fawn. A brown and white tail flickered nervously behind him, while one hoof seemed to stamp onto the ground on its own accord.  
  
Most noticeable were the creature’s eyes. They were nothing like an elf’s eyes, as the pupil ran horizontally but was still wide in the darkness. The color alone was stunning, as even in the thick cloak of Night, the moon lit them enough that the Hunter could see they were a brilliant shade of pale blue like the sky on a clear summer afternoon. Despite their brilliance, they regarded the Hunter with fear.   
  
“ _Leave,_ ” the voice said, now identified as coming from the creature. He looked at the Hunter with absolute urgency.  
  
The Hunter lowered his bow completely. He found himself struggling to take in the sight, as he had never seen anything like it. Even the stories failed to paint an accurate picture of these hybrid creatures. Although he had hunted his fair share of deer, there was no way he could possibly shoot something so mystical.  
  
The creature anxiously pawed at the ground with one of his hooves, glancing over his shoulder once as though he was being followed. Even though the Hunter understood what the creature was trying to tell him, he felt as though the dirt had turned to mire beneath his boots and he was unable to move.   
  
“What are you?” he managed, his voice soft.  
  
The creature responded with one word that sounded like ‘Thua’, but the Hunter didn’t understand. He shook his head to denote so and the creature urged forward again. “ _I can’t explain now,_ ” said the whisper. “ _Please, leave._ ”  
  
With a rush of wind and the faint pounding of hooves on the ground, the creature was gone, leaving the Hunter still stunned and frozen. He blinked once, twice, before looking up at the stars. The creature had come from the north, the land of monsters that could not be killed, the land of savage beasts and tribes of the untameable.   
  
The Hunter wanted to see him again.


End file.
